First Flight
by KatDancer2
Summary: Fledglings are pushed out of the nest when they're learning to fly. Finch lands in a heap of trouble and hopes she can learn to fly before she's captured and caged! Takes place in Denerim, two years after the death of the Archdemon
1. Pushed from the Nest

_Finch, my girl… if there's anywhere in Denerim you don't belong, it's here in the palace district._

The girl was sitting in a shady tree opposite the palace gates just after dawn, her cloak wrapped tightly around herself as she nibbled on a fruit and nut roll that had been scorched on one side. The baker had pressed two of them into her hands as she passed his market stall, and told her to come back later in the day to run packages for him. She was twixt and tween, her mother would have said – twixt childhood and adulthood, tween temporary shelters, skilled at nothing honest and suited for little save manual labor and her less legitimate skills.

Finch's entire world had changed – as had everyone else's really – with the siege of Denerim. She'd had a family before the Darkspawn came boiling through the gates and out of the sewers and into the streets – a working class family but a family nonetheless.

Her mother had been a laundress, and had had to listen to abuse from that nasty bitch Goldanna who always tried to make her mother's work sound overly expensive and substandard. The woman was bitter, with five brats running about in the streets and no man that Finch could see – he might have died or be working to support his family elsewhere, but Finch nursed a grimly satisfied suspicion that he might simply have abandoned the shrew.

Her father and her older brother, Hugh, had worked at the docks, down near the Alienage. Their salaries, combined with her mother's, had kept the family solvent; when Hugh's leg was broken in a terrible fall from the deck of a ship into its hold, Finch had had to work to try to make up the difference. At age fourteen, she'd ended up with Slim Couldry's band of thieves – running messages, mostly, but also using her small size and agility to get into places other thieves could not – and open the gates for them. Her parents never knew the source of her money… or else they might have, and looked the other way because they had no choice.

Finch hoped they didn't know her for a thief.

The siege had taken her family from her, and she had been badly injured when a building collapsed on her as she tried to flee to the Chantry. It was weeks before she was able to rise from the pallet in the Chantry to hobble back to her neighborhood only to realize that it was all gone, burned to the ground. And so now she took any job she could get, any meal she could find, and any place she could sleep.

Up in her tree she looked over the palace walls into the manicured gardens, kicking a leg back and forth slowly as she watched the sunlight beginning to peep over the walls and the slow creep of golden light begin to kiss the walkways, shrubs, and benches inside. She sighed with contentment as she watched them slowly come alive under the morning light's paintbrush, and leaned back against the bole of the tree, wishing she'd had some warm tea to drink as well.

The palace district was a mixed blessing – because it was the palace district and well-patrolled, it was one of the few places in Denerim where she really needn't worry being robbed, raped or murdered in the street. On the other hand, she DID need to worry about guardsmen spotting her and harassing her for vagrancy.

She shut her eyes, smiling at the feel of early morning sun warming her skin as she sprawled up there, her foot swinging. Mornings were pretty here.

She opened one lazy eye and assessed the palace grounds again. There was no good way in – any place low enough for her to scale was easily visible from the guard posts. Getting out again would be even _more_ difficult – there was little to get her high enough to go over the walls from the inside – it would have to be stealth and trickery to get in and out. That was never a good plan. She was neither a bard nor so skilled at blending into shadow to…

"Here! You, get down here _right now!"_

Finch looked down in alarm. There were two city guards under her tree looking up, and one was pointing a crossbow directly at her. Panic blossomed in her chest, and she froze, terrified lest a quarrel find her.

"I… I… I d-didn't mean any harm…," she stammered, slowly standing so she could turn to shimmy back down the tree trunk.

"Just you come down out of that tree," said the older one more calmly.

"Coming here day after day, surveying the grounds, trying to find a way in? Of course not," sneered the younger of the two guards. "D'ya think we're fools?"

Her stomach twisted, and she hugged the tree trunk. "No sir," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I think you're mistaken. The flowers…."

There was a sharp twang, a yell of alarm from below, and a bolt thwacked into the tree inches from her head. The older guard was yelling at the younger, whether for nearly _hitting_ her or for _missing_ her, Finch didn't wait around to hear. She didn't think: she _moved_, bolting away from the trunk, down the branch, away from danger, the branch sagging and bobbing under her weight. There was only one direction to take, only one choice, and as she reached the end of the branch there was nothing but open air and the wall fifteen feet away… and she heard an ominous cracking.

She heard shouts from below, and made a split-second decision, flinging herself forward into open air.

* * *

"You idiot!" Kenton yelled at the younger guard as the crossbow discharged accidentally. He'd seen the girl before – while they needed to discourage her from hanging about, he didn't think there was anything more to her being there than finding a quiet place to have her breakfast and see the frankly magnificent gardens. Merlon was young and liked to make sure everyone knew he was a Guard and he had Authority.

The girl panicked and bolted, flinging herself away from the bole of the tree and away from danger. He watched in horror as the branch bounced and swayed under her headlong flight, and he shouted a warning as he heard the branch creaking and beginning to snap.

She hesitated for a moment, wide-eyed, and as he shouted at her to stop, and he heard the branch crack. She flung herself out into the open air as the branch fell out from underneath her.

* * *

The wall leaped up and slammed into her chest and hip, and Finch scrabbled desperately to cling to the top of it, but it was no good. Her momentum caused her to roll, and she found herself falling.

She landed hard, and wasn't sure how long she had been out when she woke and looked around. She fully expected to be, well, _dead_ after that fall, or at the least badly hurt… but although everything ached she seemed to be largely ok.

She was lying on some soft, recently turned soil in a flower bed, and looked around, confused for a moment… then realized.

She was _on the wrong side of the palace walls_.

Finch pushed herself to her feet, diving behind a bush and trembling, desperately looking for a way out. She had _no_ right to be here, _no_ cause to be here, no _excuse_ for being here. She wondered if she'd be flogged for her presumption, tossed in prison… or executed.

She really didn't want any of that. She had to find a way out, _now_.

She kept to the wall, trying to slink around. Perhaps she could get to the gates, find a way out. She hoped the sound of her heart and rasping breath wasn't as loud to others as they were to her own ears.

_Andraste, hear my prayer… get me out of this one and I'll get out of the next three myself! _she prayed, huddling in a hydrangea.


	2. By Chance

"Hey, look, it's that girl again," Merlon said, unlimbering his crossbow.

"Steady on," his partner, Kenton said. "There's no need for that. Girl's been eating her roll up that tree on and off for near two months now – since everything started blooming again."

"What if she's a spy? What if she's a lookout? You want to take the risk on her being an assassin?"

"Merlon, don't be daft. Were she an assassin, we'd never see her."

"But maybe she wants us to see her just so we won't think she IS an assassin!"

Kenton sighed. Merlon was about as intelligent as your common nug, and not much better looking. Still, he had a point – the girl shouldn't be there. Shame to disturb her, though… she got this dreamy look on her face whenever she was up there, a look very different from the pinched, worried look he'd seen her with hurrying about in the market looking for work.

"There's no need for that crossbow. Sling it."

"She might be dangerous." Merlon tightened his grip on the weapon. "Here!" he shouted, startling the girl badly. "You, get down here _right now!"_

_The girl jumped at his bellow, and Kenton could see the blood drain from her face, and impossibly wide brownish eyes looking down at them. _"I… I… I d-didn't mean any harm…."

Poor thing looked as if she were going to cry. "Just you come down out of that tree," Kenton said gently.

"Coming here day after day, surveying the grounds, trying to find a way in? Of course not," Merlon sneered, tightening his grip on the crossbow. "D'ya think we're fools?"

"Careful," Kenton murmured.

"I know what I'm doing," Merlon growled back.

The girl was carefully preparing to climb down to the ground. "No sir," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I think you're mistaken. The flowers…."

Merlon aimed the bow right at her, and the strap caught on his elbow. As the crossbow jerked, Kenton saw Merlon's finger slip on the trigger. He shoved Merlon, and watched in horror as the bolt that had been aimed right for the girl's heart hit just beside her ear, missing her by bare inches.

The girl bolted along the wide branch she'd been standing on, even as Kenton ran beneath her yelling for her to stop. The limb would never be able to take that jostling and her weight bouncing on it.

Even as he watched helplessly, the limb snapped, and the girl flung herself into open air, trying to catch the top of the palace wall. She hit it glancingly, desperately trying to arrest her forward motion, and screaming, tumbled across it and dropped like a stone on the other side.

Kenton turned on Merlon, who'd gone white at the girl's almost certainly fatal plunge. "Congratulations," he snarled, "you've just killed an unarmed girl!"

"We… we've got to find her!" Merlon stammered.

* * *

The gardens were always so beautiful this time of morning, he thought, as he walked through them, with his companion, a black mabari named Chance running ahead and sniffing everwhere.

"Roses," he said to the dog. "I'm sure some of them need trimming." And so he walked through the garden, whistling tunelessly, a large pair of clippers leaning on his shoulder.

Chance's head came up suddenly, his ears swiveling forward in intense concentration, and suddenly he was off and running.

"I said _roses_," the man said wearily, "not hydrangeas. Honestly, can't you tell the difference?"


	3. Discovery

Finch was easing out of the hydrangea and trying to head to the next clump of brush when a huge, wet, doggy tongue caught her smack across the mouth and nose, and she tried to cover her face and fend it off. "No, please, dog… go away! Oh please don't draw attent—"

"Hullo! Chance, what have you got there?"

_I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead. _

The mabari wuffed and planted a paw firmly on her cloak, pinning her where she was. Finch tried to release the clasp, but before she could, the mabari was shooed off her with a happy bark.

Finch cringed back against the wall.

* * *

Somewhere, under all the dirt and slobber, he was sure there was a girl. It was difficult to see her, though, as she tried to will herself on the other side of the wall, pushing herself against it.

Chance wasn't fussed about the girl – in fact, had he not been shooed off, he probably would have given her a thorough bath.

He laid the clippers down gently, so as not to startle the girl, and extended a hand, speaking softly so as not to frighten her worse – almost as if she were a jittery horse or mabari. "Here now. It's all right. You don't need to be afraid."

"I _do_ need to be afraid." He saw startling hazel eyes framed in a pale face. "I'm not supposed to _be_ here."

"Well, there is _that_." He crouched down to her level. She was young… she couldn't have been more than sixteen or so. "Maybe I can help. What do you want here?"

The look in her eyes turned pleading. "Nothing, I don't want _anything_! I want to _leave_ before I'm arrested or, or hanged… I didn't mean to come here, _honest_."

Chance chose to come to the girl and sit beside her, nosing her encouragingly until she started to pet him. The dog was watchful but relaxed. Interesting.

He cocked his head at her. "How did you manage to come in here accidentally?" he wondered.

"I… fell."

"From the sky?"

"From a tree." She took his hand, very tentatively, and he stood smoothly, steadying her and helping her to her own feet.

"A _tree_?"

* * *

Finch looked at the man as she took his hand. His face was open and friendly, and she could see concern there as well. Some sort of gardener, she assumed, and let him draw her gently to her feet. The mabari stayed close beside her as well.

He drew her over to a bench, and nodded toward it. She sat, nervously. "Oh, please, ser…. _Please_ let me out of here…"

"I will." He sat beside her. "Now… tell me about this tree?"

Finch tried with little success to brush the dirt off herself. "I didn't mean any harm," she said in a quavery voice. "I was just having a bit of bread, sitting up the tree and looking over the wall." She reached under her cloak, and while the man stiffened slightly, the mabari did nothing more than nose her.

Out of her pouch came the sadly smashed remains of what was to be her supper, and Finch sighed. "Like this one, only not so…."

"Flat." He sounded amused, but the look in his eyes was thoughtful and concerned. He was also beginning to hear, a bit off, some sort of disturbance. He looked at Chance, and the mabari took off silently.

Finch nodded.

"But why did you want to look over the wall?"

Finch bit her lip. "The gardens…. They're so pretty, 'specially in the morning when the sunlight's just woken them up."

Here, the man smiled. "You know, I was just thinking that myself." He sobered again. "So you just wanted to come in and peek, and then realized you couldn't get out?"

"Oh, no ser. No, I'd never be so cheeky." She shook her head emphatically. "Two guards saw me. One asked me to come down nice, the other yelled. I was coming down, honest, when the mean one shot at me!"

"_Shot_ at you?" Those friendly hazel eyes narrowed now. "For being in a tree eating a roll? Are you sure you're telling me the whole story?"

"_Maker strike me where I stand if I'm not!_" she said emphatically, standing up and taking a step away from the bench… and from him. As if she hoped to protect him from being struck as well, should the Maker decide to obliterate her.

They both heard the mabari bark, and turned to see the dog running back with two guardsmen in tow. Finch cried out in dismay and stepped behind the man, terrified.

"Oh _please_, ser, I swear I meant no harm…. I fell in when I run along the branch to get away… the first bolt missed me by a inch and I didn't want to get shot," she blurted. "Please… I didn't _mean_ anythin'… I wouldn't presume! _Please_!" All the color had drained out of her face, and she looked alarmingly like she might pass out there and then. "Please don't let them hang me!"

"_Hang_ you?!"

She shivered. "All I wanted was to find a way out before the King found out I was here… I wouldn't presume to intrude…." She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, and left muddy streaks instead.

The guards skidded to a stop, and to Finch's infinite surprise crossed both arms over their chests and bowed low. "Your Majesty," the older one said.

Finch's eyes went wide, and she took a step back, falling to one knee, arms across her chest and her head low, trembling.


	4. Soaring

"Oh, please do stand up. We're not in an audience chamber, you know."

Finch didn't know what to do… instinct told her to stay down, but when the King told you to do something, you were bound to do it. So she stood, her eyes on her feet.

_I'm dead._

A gentle hand rested on Finch's shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She looked up, biting her lip, and met those hazel eyes again.

"I have it on rather good authority that you won't be flogged, or put in a cell, or executed, or whatever other horrible fate you've thought up," he said gently, and gave her a wink.

Finch felt her stomach lurch, and she swayed a little with relief.

"What I _would_ like to know is that shooting my subjects out of trees without giving them time to comply with instructions from the guard is not going to happen again." His voice didn't sound quite so friendly there.

"Um, no, Your Majesty." Kenton said, nudging Merlon.

"Good." He looked at Finch for a moment, and spoke to the mabari. "Chance, accompany mistress….." He looked at her, and gave her a lopsided smile.

"F-finch, Your Majesty."

"…Mistress Finch to the kitchen. It seems her breakfast's been interrupted." He looked at the guards. "Once she's had her breakfast, you can escort her to the palace gates."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He nodded, and gave her an encouraging smile. "When you'd like to see the gardens, Mistress Finch, come 'round to the gates and ask. One of the gardeners will take you on the grand tour." He pulled his arm partly into his sleeve, and used his cuff to try to clean the worst of the dirt off her face. "I'm not sure if that's helping or making it worse."

"Ser!" Finch looked at him wide-eyed. "Your sleeve!"

"It's only dirt," he chuckled. "There… that's better. Off to breakfast with you, now – and remember… come back to see the garden, as often as you like. I'll leave word at the gate."

Finch felt her heart surge with happiness. Not only wasn't she going to die, she could explore the garden when she liked? That was beyond generous... she sneaked another look at him, amazed. He was a good person, as well as a good king.

He clapped his hands, and rubbed them together briskly. "Well, that's taken care of, "he said to himself, picking up the clippers again. "Now off to get those roses for the Queen."


	5. Arl Think About It

Finch worked her way back to the Market District, her stomach full for once and her heart light – even if her body were sore beyond belief. She'd met the king. She'd been inside the castle grounds.

She wasn't dead. And she had an invitation to come see the royal gardens at any time.

She passed the Gnawed Noble and looked around carefully. A quick glance told her that everything was just as it should be, and she moved on, skirting the market stalls until she came to a tall, somewhat stout redheaded man standing across from the Chantry.

"Here there, Finch. Got a song for old Slim?"

Finch shook her head glumly. "Not a chirp today."

"Pity." He slipped a piece of parchment into her hand. "Well, run along then, and pass this to Aidan." He gave her a measuring look. "There's a bit of money in it for a bird that can squeeze through a gate…"

Finch felt her stomach twist with worry. "How much?"

"Ten silvers."

Finch felt her brow crease with worry. "And the job…"

"Leave a door unlocked at the Arl of Denerim's estate. Bastard's taking too many liberties with the ladies in the Alienage – you'd have thought being locked in his own dungeons for it for weeks would have cured him of it." Slim's face changed from the open and affable look he usually wore to something more… grim. "Some of the boys' sisters have been hurt, and we can't have that."

Finch's eyes narrowed. "I thought you weren't into bleeding."

"Normally, we're not. And I _don't_ want anyone getting the idea we should kill a noble. Maker's arse, that would have them rousting every layabout, and we don't need that. But robbing him blind to get the coin to get some of those families out of there – now that's worth doing, don't you think?"

Finch nodded. "Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I'm in."


End file.
